


In which nothing really happens

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AO3 fic counter is at 1698 and this fic should be 1699. I have a strange love of odd numbers what can I say. I leave the glory of the 1700th fic to you oh, next writer. I'm just glad we have more to read. </p>
<p>This is a slice of life fic, quiet, not much happens. Just a reprieve, a quiet corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which nothing really happens

The raindrop clung to the window's glass. It slowly gained volume as watery rivulets from above fed into it and when it could defy gravity no longer, it let go ... happily rolling downwards ... the trail of its random path temporarily etched onto the glass in tiny droplets who then themselves dispersed. 

Grey afternoon light filtered in through the raindrops, augmented by the yellow lights of other windows and of street lamps beginning their night's work ahead of schedule. The sound of vehicles slushing through the street's puddles and the occasional umbrellaed conversation of passerbys drifted into the quiet of the library. 

Side by side on the sofa, each quietly immersed in study, they sat. 

"The light's fading," Joan spoke softly, not raising her eyes from her journal.

Sherlock responded by raising his arm and switching the small lamps that clung to the bookshelves behind them. He continued reading. 

He spoke to the book. "I'm going to heat up some of the curry soup from last night, care for some?" 

"Yes, please." She turned and watched him for a second. He had a good silhouette, angular and strong.... his eyes, cast a softness ....

He caught her looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing. My feet are cold." She tucked them underneath her as he closed his book and stood.

Joan looked up at him. "Would you bring me a pair of socks when you come back?"

He cocked his head at her. "I'm going down to the kitchen."

A trace of a smile crossed her lips.

He squinted at her, then turned and left the room.

::::::::::::

The tray was laden with two mugs of soup and all the necessary accompaniments. Sherlock stopped just short of the threshold. Watson stared out the window, lost in thought. She looked so small, so much in need of protecting. Everyone took from her, including him. Sometimes he could see the toll it took on her.

He put a bounce in his step and entered the room. "Here we are." His voice dragged her out of her reverie. Joan turned away from the window and watched him. Sherlock pushed the ottoman over and with a minimum of clinking, set the tray on it. 

He reached into his pocket and with a magician's flair produced a pair of bee-patterned light blue socks.

"My favorites! Thank you." Her face shone with pleasure at the small gesture.

Sherlock sat down next to her, his face a mask of sternness. "Don't get used to this. You know how I feel about my socks." He muttered then jerked his head slightly at her. "Give me your feet."

Like a child being dressed by her parent, she swung them in front of him and watched as he rolled the too-large socks onto her feet.

"They are ice cold," he mumbled as he twisted the sock's heel around to approximately its correct location. He squeezed each foot and rubbed a bit to encourage circulation as he finished. "There. Better?"

"Ahh, yes. Thank you." She happily wiggled her toes and made him smile.

Sherlock quickly detoured attention elsewhere, "Eat before the soup gets cold."

The rain continued outside as they ate and conversed of odds and ends. 

_" ... The basement door needs new weatherstripping ... "  
"Mmm ... "_

_"The article you were reading on face transplants, what did you think about footnote 3 ...."  
" It had merit but his research was flawed by ..... "_

_"Yes, they are flourishing again. Moving the hive was a splendid solution ..."_

 

At some point the light outside faded completely, a fire was lit and the evening continued much the same as the day had done.


End file.
